


Royal Pain

by GE Buchanan (GracieForeth)



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 20:24:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19035010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracieForeth/pseuds/GE%20Buchanan
Summary: Constance Wallace is the next in line to rule her beloved countries, Ryfa and Lyorfa, and it wasn’t something she worried herself with until her father was assassinated and now she has to leave the party scene to focus on her coronation. That was before the letters arrived, threatening her life and line unless she abdicates to the next family, her brother-in-law, Renard Monceaux.James Barnes left the army with an injury to his left arm, forcing him to discharge honorably and take up performing private security. His normal clients were usually members of the Assembly or Council who received death threats over whatever law or belief they advocate for. He had a strict rule on doing detail for royals, as he found them to be stuck in their ways, refusing to change anything of their day-to-day for their own safety. But that changes when a close friend offers a detail for a princess set to become queen after her father was murdered.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Characters: OFC-Constance Wallace, Misty Knight, Stever Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sharon “Carter” Monceaux, OMC-Renard Monceaux
> 
> Pairing:Misty Knight x OFC-Constance Wallace
> 
> Warnings:drug use, insinuated F/F sex, death

These were her people, the only ones that Constance felt completely normal around and not one person questioned who she was. Everyone was vetted before joining The Hive, giving everyone a sense of security and belonging to a family that accepted them. Heavy bass and Rapture made sure everyone was receiving what they were there...forgetting. There was too much that Constance wanted to forget and she visited regularly on Thursdays. She needed to forget who she was and what her life was like; it was too much for one twenty-seven year old to deal with in this modern age.

The music was blaring something that barely could be registered as the bass was vibrating the walls, lights, and anything that could bend to the soundwaves. It was what the crowd thrived on, the beat took over their bodies and had them moving, to some, erratically, but each movement had fluidity to it that only made sense to anyone who visited the scene on a regular basis. So it didn’t concern Constance any when a woman wrapped her arm around her middle and started to sway provocatively, eyes closed as ecstasy was the only expression worn by dark beauty.  The sight was inviting, Constance’s own hand moved the woman’s waist, pulling her closer to match her new partner’s hips swaying and took in the goddess that chose her. It only took one song and hands were traveling over arms and sides, her enchantress wove her hands into Constance’s mahogany locks, tugging her in for a heated kiss, one that Constance was all too pleased to return, accepting the small pill that laid against her ebony rose’s tongue. It would take a few moments for the euphoria to set in, but the tugging on her hand suggested that what the woman was promising was coming much sooner. The blue hallway was long, adorned with black doors, most with red lights on above to note occupancy, but there was one nestled between occupied rooms for them.

“Sampeyan sing ayu, P uteri,” the woman smiled, her fingers dancing up Constance’s arm. The words made Constance blush and shake her head. “I’m Misty. What should I call you Puerti?”

“Evangeline,” Constance replied, “Everyone gets Evangeline.”

“Oh? I am everyone?” Lips traced along Constance jaw, making her skin prick and head fall back. “Does everyone take care of this lonely puerti, or am I special?”

“Special tonight,” Constance gasped as those long, dark fingers pulled her hair to the side to expose Constance’s neck even more so Misty could nip and suck at her pleasure, sending shivers through her body. “Enough talk,” she growled, pulling Misty’s hands out of her hair and turned the dark woman so her back was against the black door, hands pinned above her head. “Rapture’s kicking in and I want to ascend with you, even though you’ve been high for a while.” She crashed her lips against her new found lover, tongue seeking solace among hers. She could feel Misty’s knee press against her core, making her moan obscenely.

**~*~**

The pounding was excruciating against Constance’s temples, and it even made her eyelids hurt when they squeezed tight before trying to open. The satin against her bare body stuck from the night’s events, and when she sat up, the room spun and the headache was pounding outside of her head. The screen next to the door showed a blue haze of a face, an angry face of a blond man.

“Constance!”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Shut it Steve!” she called back, winching at volume she used. She got up, forgoing any cover to open the door for the man, who entered and closed the door tightly. “Don’t lecture me, especially here. And we agreed that I’m Evangeline when I am out.” She dropped back down on the bed, pulling for the black fur-like blanket over her and the sleeping Misty.

“Constance,” Steve grumbled, looking around and picked up the woman’s clothes and tossed them to her which earned him a growl.

“Rogers, I am not in the mood for this right now. I hate being ordered around after a high.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be getting high. Up. Dress. We’re leaving,” he ordered, pulling the blanket off of the women, causing Misty to wake up with wide eyes. It was a look Constance had gotten use to after Rapture had worn off in the afterglow of sex and dawn was approaching. “You, Misty Knight, you mention one word of tonight’s escapade to anyone, you will find yourself at Basque.”

“Steven!” Constance yelled, her head falling into her hands, growling in frustration. “Misty, I’m sorry. I had fun and enjoyed it a lot.” She reached for Misty’s arm, pulling her in to kiss her lover passionately, partly because she wanted to and partly to irritate Steve. “Maybe I’ll see you next week, okay babe?”

“No, you won’t,” Steve sighed, picking up the dress that Misty had worn, and handed it to the woman without a single glance. “Your father is at the hospital.”

“What did he drink himself into a fit again and mom called the guard?” Constance stood and stepped back into her red dress, shimmying it up quickly as she looked for her heels, groaning when she saw Steve dangling them out to her on his fingers and she snatched them with annoyance. “I don’t see why I have to go visit his sorry ass. He’s just hungover and hooked up to an IV bag.”

“Constance,” Steve started.

Constance ignored him, busying herself in picking up her pantyhose and stuffed them into her purse that Steve miraculously had along with her coat. “And he will be hitting on every young nurse or doctor that comes in, regardless if Mother is there or not.”

“Connie.”

The nickname had her rooted in mid-bend, fingers barely grasping her bra. Steve never called her Connie. Connie was when people broke news to her that was unsavory, especially if it will involve emotions. She wet her lips and slowly rose, handing the beige bra to him before approaching Misty, leaned down and kissed her slow and deliberately. “I’m sorry my beauty, but I think this might be our one and only time together. I fear that I won’t be returning anytime soon. Please take care.” She turned towards Steve and forced a neutral look as best as good. “Car?”

“Around back, Sharon and Renard are already at Ryfaan court.”

“Mother?”

“Back at the Marrafyn.”

Constance nodded and bid Misty a good day before following Steve down the hall, red lights made the blue walls a sickly purple. She knew what was needed to be discussed and it was a private matter that none of the common folk needed to know. There were protocols in place for this, and sure, she broke rules, but never protocols as serious as this one. And this one involved her never to go back to The Hive again.

**~*~**

“Get down!” Bucky yelled, his body covering Earl Bonitome as shots rang out as bullets tore through the car they were next to. He elder gentleman tried to raise his head to see what was going on, but Bucky just pressed down onto him, forcing his head to the pavement. There was a break in shots, letting Bucky to look up slightly and catching the glint of suspects scope. It wasn’t hard for him to train his eye on the perpetrator, pull the trigger, and landing a shot right in the gunman’s shoulder before placing another shot to the opposite knee. He watched as the large man fall, screaming in agony before Bucky moved.

“Stay put,” he growled at Bonitome, getting up quickly and carefully advanced the howling man with his gun still drawn. He kicked the pistol to the side before he placed his foot on the leg wound, stepping down enough to make the man hiss loudly. Obscenities were thrown out making Bucky chuckle darkly as he waited for the sirens to grow closer, keeping the earl in his peripheral the whole time.

“Things could have went worse I’d say,” Bonitome smiled, handing a glass to Bucky. They were back at Bonitome’s mansion after the incident, mostly for Bucky to be paid, but also for Bonitome to self-medicate with scotch since his nerves were shot.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, taking the glass of amber liquid as his eyes roamed around the room, a habit of looking for weak points from years of being in the Army. Bonitome walked over to the mantle and grabbed the manilla envelope, holding it out to Bucky to take, maintaining his grip as the brunet did so.

“Come work for me full time, Barnes. Could use a man like you on my detail all the time,” the older gentleman gleamed.

“That’s kind of you,” Bucky replied, “but I don’t do long term jobs. Makes things complicated when you get...attached.”

“I respect that,” Bonitome smiled, letting go of the envelope and raised his glass, “I guess there are more people out there that have even more dangerous people after them. Don’t think I won’t call if something like this happens again.”

“I’ll remember that sir, but if I am already on an assignment the chances of that happen are null.” He clink his glass to the gentleman’s and took a small sip out of respect. All he looked forward to was to be home and out of the suit. 

“I understand Barnes,” Bonitome smiled, “besides, you probably have a girl at home waiting for you. Afterall, you were away for almost two months.”

“Yeah, Claire probably did miss me. My landlord checked up on her occasionally, so I know she is good. Well, it’s been a pleasure, Mr. Bonitome. And no offense, I hope not to see you again.” He gave the older gentleman a smile and nodded, setting his empty glass down onto the bar before shaking his hand and took his leave.

The drive was long and Bucky desperately craved for his bed, or the lack of. After the war, he could only sleep on the floor, the carpet giving him just enough warmth and cushion that he didn’t mind. And he did miss Claire, but she was actually a cat that came and went when she pleased. Bucky left specific instructions for Maria, his landlord, while he was gone so Claire didn’t think he abandoned her completely: tuna every other day and a special smoothie he makes for the other days, and Maria was a saint with a soft spot for the shorthair and she made the smoothie herself.  The house was quiet and dark when he arrived, and of course when he entered he could smell the cleaning products that Maria used within the last three days. It wasn’t off putting as it had a weird sense of homecoming for him.

It was his first time cooking supper for himself since he took the Bonitome job, but he always had pasta and sauce lying in the cabinet, he just had to make sure that it was still good, which was actually rare considering jobs only last a few months or so. He sat with his bowl, window open to let Claire in if she happened by, and turned on the tv for the broadcast and the mundane game show he liked afterwards. Fork in one hand and throwing knife in the other, he ate quietly as he watched the news and flipped the knife. When the screen flashed a picture of the king, Bucky paused, brows knitting together. 

“We regret to inform our listening area this morning that our beloved King Reginald, Ruler of Ryfa and Lyorfa, has passed to unforeseen circumstances early this morning. We do not know any details in his passing, just that our queen and princesses are at Marrafyn grieving their loss.”

Bucky hit the mute button as he read the scrolling bar on the bottom of the screen. The king had no known illnesses or had received any threats recently that caused any concern. There was speculation that he was poisoned or shot, but the Royal Service wouldn’t release that kind of information until much later, once the king was laid to rest on Kyfroma Hill and Princess Constance had her coronation. The lack of information had Bucky curious and he picked up his phone to dial his friend’s number.

“If you were calling me, I’m right here.”

The voice behind him startled him only slightly, but Bucky still turned and threw the knife at the intruder, missing only by a fraction and impaled itself into the wooden support beam.

“Losing your touch, Barnes,” the man chuckled, pulling the knife out before walking towards the brunet, extending the weapon for him to take back. 

“You should know better than to sneak up on me Rogers,” Bucky grumbled, taking the knife back and went back to eating his noodles. “And the answer is no.”

“You don’t even know why I’m here.” Bucky pointed to the screen and looked up at the blond with tired look. “Okay, okay. I need help with Constance.”

“No, Steve. I don’t do the royal thing. That’s what the Service is for. To be pushed around by some stuffy rich people who we never had a choice in the matter of ruling us.”

“Tell me how you really feel, Buck.”

“Steve, no. Just...no. There isn’t anything you can say for me to even entertain the idea of taking on that detail. She’s a party girl and selfish. Hell, I don’t even know if the country wants her to be queen.”

“That’s the thing, Bucky,” Steve sighed, sitting on the couch gingerly, not waiting to be engulfed in a cloud of dust. “The king was murdered. No one knows yet, not even Queen Moira. We are trying to figure out how he was as there was no physical wounds we could find. So it has to be a chemical of some kind. That makes everyone in Ryfa and Lyorfa a suspect.”

“Even the little babies?” Bucky teased, “Really, Steve, you’ve been Constance’s guard since she was like twelve. Can’t you handle it yourself?”

“Fifteen and she’s becoming queen,” Steve replied almost sadly, “That’s not my duty. I will be transferred to Moira and the queen’s guard will be responsible for her. Moira trusted her guard, but she doesn’t want Constance to have one that is use to a queen sitting pretty and doing nothing.”

“So I will be her what then? Personal bodyguard? Yeah, I don’t think Princess Constance will love that. The guard follows ten, maybe fifteen feet away. I will be within two.”

“C’mon Buck. I need the peace of mind too. She’s like my sister.” Steve looked like he was scared for his charge. “She’s like my Rebecca.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair and nodded. “Fine. Fine! I’ll meet with Queen Moira to discuss what is exactly expected of me, but once you guys figure it out who has killed the king, I’m done. That’s my condition.”

“Done.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: OFC-Constance Wallace, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sharon “Carter” Monceaux, OMC-Renard Monceaux, OFC-Moira Wallace, Tony Stark
> 
> Pairing: OFC-Constance Wallace x Tony Stark
> 
> Warnings: drug use, swearing, mild violence, brief mention of arousal

Constance sat on the burgundy crushed velvet couch, her back pressed against the hard backing, her eyes focused ahead, staring blankly at her sister, Sharon sitting next to her husband, Renard Monceaux, crowned prince and heir of Estanoi. Sharon was the one that would settle down first, her and Renard been in love since she was five. Despite being ten years apart, their father encouraged the relationship when Sharon was fifteen, setting the who up on a date even though their mother protested. Constance smiled at the thought, the words her mother called Renard: egotistical, tactless, spineless, and Constance’s favorite, lily-livered. Of course, Sharon didn’t know any of this as she saw Renard to be a strong man who was charismatic and loving.

_ If only she knew he had seven mistresses, _ Constance thought bitterly. She will always care and love her little sister, but it didn’t mean she had to even like her brother-in-law in any degree.

That smug bastard was sitting there, arm around Sharon, consoling the weeping twenty-four year old, hand on her bulging stomach. The words “stress is not good for the baby” could be heard, a jab at Constance for sure. That man always had eyes for her, but Constance rebuffed his feelings because she knew how much her sister crushed on him, and her sister’s feelings use to trump hers. Since, Renard made it his life’s purpose to make Constance feel insignificant at every turn, which most never even pierced her skin, but the baby thing, for some reason, did.

“Momma, please say you are doing an autopsy on him,” Sharon pleased through a series of sniffs and sobs, her eyes focused on Moira to Constance’s left, who’s hand was tightly clenching a baby blue handkerchief. 

“Carter, you know our laws,” Moira replied softly, looking over at her eldest with pleading eyes. “No autopsy on any royal member without the ruler’s consent.”

How could Constance have forgotten that? Oh, because most noblepersons die of old age or something that was already confirmed to cause death while they were living. She felt sick of the idea of having to call the shot on it.

“She’s not queen until she is crowned,” Sharon replied, the tone was almost seething. “You’re still queen, why can’t you order it.”

“Carter, you know the law,” Moira replied, more forceful this time. “I am not of Wallace blood, therefore I cannot overtake the duties that your father had. It is Constance to make, and right now, she is grieving just like you, but she has more on her plate right now.”

“Daddy’s death isn’t the top priority?” Sharon screamed, standing up abruptly causing Renard to blink at her slowly, trying to process what had happen. “Order the autopsy, Connie. Or don’t you love Daddy to know what happened?!” She was borderline hysteric, and it had to be because of the hormones.

“Sharon Carter Wallace,” Moira forced out, standing in front of her daughter, “we are all upset, and I think it would be best if you and Renard retire to your room for now. I will send in Monica with some tea to soothe your nerves.” The queen didn’t move nor dropped her steely gaze until Sharon accepted the fact that she wasn’t going to get her way. Constance watched Renard put his arm around his wife and turned her to leave, whispering something in her ear that Constance couldn’t make out. Only once they were out of the sitting room did Moira settle back on the seat next to her other daughter with a sigh.

“Momma, I can order it,” Constance replied softly, her hand covering her mother’s and gave it a squeeze.

“No,” Moira smiled, turning towards her daughter, “that is not something you need to worry with yourself right now. I know how your father died, so does the physician. We have seen this coming for weeks now, we just never told you girls.”

“Momma?” 

Before Moira could reply, the sitting room door was opened and Bernerd, the king and queen’s butler, entered.

“Ma’am, your highness,” he nodded, the first title threw Constance, but then she realized that her mother was no longer the crowned ruler. “Mr. Rogers has returned and he has a guest.”

“Show them in Bernerd,” Moira smiled, looking over at Jenessa, her handmaiden practically, and waved for her to get the tea.

“Momma, what do you mean you knew what was wrong with Daddy?” Constance asked, her voice low, but only was waved off by her mother as she sat poised for Constance’s guard to enter with his guest.

_ Steve brought a guest? Steve doesn’t have friends, none that he has ever spoken of. _

“Ma’am.” Steve’s voice broke through her thoughts and she looked up to see the muscular blond, reddish brown stubble dotted his face and his eyes looked...tired. He must have not have slept since he picked her up at The Hive. Oh, how she longed to be there instead, high on Rapture and not giving a fuck with what is going on.

“Steven,” Moira smiled, her eyes brightening for the first time. She was about to get up but Steven shook his head with a soft smile and walked towards them, taking her mother’s hand, kissing her knuckles as he knelt.  “Steven, no need for formalities.”

Did her mother just giggle?

“There is, Ma’am,” Steve pushed up and moved to Constance, taking her hand just like her mother’s, and kissed her knuckles when his knee hit the floor. “We are trying to keep the rumors suppressed, but we do need to have something to give the media to satisfy your people and to ease their minds.

“What they are expecting is the truth,” Moira replied sadly, earning a nod from Steve, “is this why your guest is here?” Constance shifted her eyes over to the door, seeing a man dressed in a charcoal suit with dark hair that was pulled back and eyes that were bright blue that it wasn’t hard for Constance to identify from the distance. He was handsome in a rugged way, sort of reminded her of some of the guys she would hook up with at the Hive. 

_ Wait, have I met him before? _

He was familiar looking, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on where she had seen him before. God, she hoped it wasn’t a the Hive.

“James Buchanan Barnes, Ma’am,” Steve smiled, turning to hold his hand out to motion for the gentleman to approach. As he got closer, his face became even more clear, and she finally realized why he was so familiar.

“Holy shit,” Constance breathed, not realizing she had said her thought out loud and earned a glare from her mother.

“Mr. Barnes,” Moira nodded, her hand was in his, his knee to the floor as pressing his lips to knuckles.

“Ma’am,” he replied, voice gruff and almost like sandpaper to Constance’s ears.

“I understand that Steven had filled you in with what your duties are?”

Duties? What duties? Her mother had her own security detail and Steve was her own, and it was common knowledge that she would inherit her father’s. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” Barnes replied,  his blue eyes settled on Constance, making her feel uncomfortable. Why does everyone know what is going on besides her?

Moira finally turned her attention to Constance, which Steve took a silent permission to sit on the couch that Sharon and Renard previously occupied, and Barnes joined him. “Connie, there are a few things we need to discuss.” Her mother’s voice was low, soft, like the time she used when Constance’s dog, Kipper, died.

“Okay,” Constance replied slowly, her eyes shifting over to the two men on the other couch. It was then that she noticed that they were completely alone. “Are you going to tell me what happened to Daddy?”

Moira gave a sigh and curt nod but she didn’t answer. Steve did.

“He was poisoned, Connie,” he said softly, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “It as confirmed almost two weeks ago when his symptoms begun. The doctors’ were able to diagnose the poison that was administered: belladonna.”

“Daddy took that for his stomach issues,” Constance interrupted, not seeing how his medicine could have killed him.

“Yes, in the right doses,” Moira replied, settling her hand on her daughter’s knee.

“The first time he had a seizure, we just assumed that the dosage was miscalculated, but it started to happen more frequently, the seizures happening several times during the day,” Steve added, “and then he developed rashes and his breathing was labored. We took every precaution we could, even stopping the medication.”

“So, how did he die from it when he wasn’t taking it?”

Steve looked at Moira who hung her head as if it was shameful. “Your father loved his berry tea,” she whispered.

“So, you’re saying Daddy was assassinated,” Constance stated, anger in every word she spoke, “and you are just telling me this now? Why aren’t you telling Sharon this?”

“Because we don’t know who done this,” Steve said evenly.

“You think…” She busted out laughing, standing to shake her head and to back away from the group. “You’re fucking nuts.”

“Constance,” Moira warned.

“No mother, you cannot sit there and tell me that someone murdered my father and suspect that Sharon had anything to do with it.”

“Not Sharon,” Barnes spoke up, earning a glare from Constance.

“You...I don’t know you, so you don’t get a say. I know who you are and everything you do is just lies and ends in death.”

“Constance Reese.” There was that tone. The tone her mother used for discipline. The tone still made Constance flinch after all these years. She settled in the dark gray high-back, crossing her leg and arms, but she remained quiet. “Your father has been receiving threats to abdicate his family’s title to the next.”

“Who’s…”

“Monceaux,” Barnes replied, “your sister’s in-laws.”

“I don’t know you,” she replied evenly, “therefore I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true, Constance,” Steve replied in defense, “several letters the last year state the same thing. ‘Abdicate or else’ sort of meanings. But now that your father is gone, you are the heir to the throne. We suspect that this person…”

“Or persons,” Barnes interjected, making Steve nod.

“Might try to come after you so they can get what they want. Renard Monceaux on the throne of Ryfa and Lyorfa.”

_ I think I’m going to be sick, _ Constance thought.

“And according to law, you receive your father’s detail, but I am uneasy giving you to them,” Steve went on, “so that is why James is here.”

“To babysit me?”

“To take care of you. He’ll take my place essentially, since I have orders to cover your mother now.”

“I can take care of myself,” Constance grumbled, her eyes narrowed on the other man. 

“That’s why you are at The Hive every week? Needing Steve to pull you out?” Barnes replied.

“How. Dare. You.” Constance stood and held a hand up to her mother. “I’m leaving.” Barnes rose with her, buttoning his jacket as he bowed to Moira. “Where do you think you going?”

“My orders are to be your close detail,” Barnes replied, a slight smirk dancing on his lips.

“You have no choice in the matter Connie,” Moira added, the mother tone making the matter closed. Constance growled and threw her hands up, storming out of the room, Barnes on her heels.

“Good luck, man,” Steve called back, and Constance could hear the delight in his voice.

**~*~**

The music was blaring, vibrating Constance’s bones and making her head buzz. She knew she shouldn’t be at the Hive, but everything was spiraling out of control for her. She wasn’t ready to be queen, she wasn’t supposed to ascend until she was at least forty. The need to have a place where no one cared who she was or what she did was a solace, like her dad’s need to drink rye at nine fifty-five every night. She didn’t care if James Barnes followed her to the club, didn’t care if he tried to remove her. She couldn’t believe her mother and Steve would trust him with her, after that man had done some despicable things while in the armed forces. 

A hand rested on her hip as lips connected with the skin behind her ear, causing her to stiffen.

“Easy, Evangeline,” a deep voice rumbled against her chest and she instantly softened as she recognized it to be Anthony Stark. “You seem to be here to forget tonight.”

She spun to face him, pressing her body into his, as her hand went up to cup his face. “I always come here to forget, Tony,” she smiled sweetly. He held up his hand, a white pill between his forefinger and thumb, his brow cocking for the question. With no hesitation, Constance opened her mouth and he placed the small tab on her tongue before his lips found the spot on her neck that made her weak. They were in the sea of dancing people, a sweaty mix of high and horny surrounded them, and it brought her comfort knowing it will take James Barnes a long while before he found her. She could feel Anthony’s hands move lower on her hips, curving around to cup her ass to press her closer to him, making her feel his next question. Of course she wasn’t going to turn down the man. She nodded and he took her hand, leading her down the blue hallway and behind a black door. Anthony produced a small purple cloth from his pocket and smiled at her, which made her laugh. Ninth Cloud.

“What’s so funny, Vangie?” Anthony smirked, setting the cloth down on the glass table, sitting on the floor and started to open it.

“Ninth Cloud,” Constance smiled, “been forever.”

A smirk was her answer as she sat opposite of him, holding her hand out to him waiting for the object he held in his hand: a long white piece of paper. She busied herself rolling it up, her eyes watching as he pulled the purple stopper off of the glass tube of a lavender dust. Ninth Cloud, named after exactly what it does. Anthony made neat lines of iridescent happiness, holding his hand out for her to take the first hit. Constance leaned forward, putting the paper tube she made to her nose and to the first line. She passed the tube to him after she finished, sniffing the remaining powder that lingered, and when he was finished she pulled him in for a heated kiss, taking the tube from him.

The hit was enough to make her high enough for the night, especially with Rapture, but she wanted to forget. The next hit was more exhilarating for both of them, and she soon found herself in Anthony’s lap, her mouth hungry against his and he slipped a hand between her thighs, groaning to find her equally excited. Fingers busied with the buttons of his red button down, the need to have another drug coursing through her veins. Just as he was about to draw the zipper down of her dress, she was pulled away abruptly and was on her feet before she could even register what was happening. 

“What the fuck man!” Anthony yelled, standing up, his shirt long forgotten.

Constance struggled to figure out what was going on, the high taking complete hold of her.  Something happened, a tussle or a fight. Something. Her head was spinning and everything was vivid but blurred. A hand was on her arm again, pulling her out of the room and she had a glimpse of Anthony kneeling with his hand to his face, dark liquid covering his hand. Her eyes roamed up to where the hand belonged, and stopped walking when she saw his face. He didn’t seem to care that she had stopped, kept pulling her with him.

“Let me go, you monster,” she seethed, her hand moving to try to loosen his grip. It only made his fingers tighten. She then resorted to hitting his hand, cursing him more and threatening to call out rape.

“Does that even apply here?”

She was stunned, not saying another word or aimed to hit again. Before she knew it, they were in the alley, a black SUV waiting for them. She couldn’t see who the driver was as James Barnes shoved her into the backseat, and instructed the driver to an address she didn’t know. She could hear him talking but the high was almost at its peak, and she was soon soaring.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: OFC-Constance Wallace, Bucky Barnes
> 
> Pairing: Platonic Bucky Barnes x Constance Wallace
> 
> Warnings: language

The light shone on Constance in broken rays, too bright for her, even with her eyes closed. Her mouth was dry, her eyelids were sandpaper against her eyes, and her body ached. She moved, hissing with pain when she rolled to her side, her temples pounding. She remembered being at The Hive, and remembered Anthony and taking Ninth Cloud, but why did it feel like she had been hit by a truck? There was no recollection of her and Anthony actually having sex, kissing sure, but they were interrupted by something...someone. 

“Mornin’,” a gruff voice said from somewhere in the room as she really did not want to open her eyes for any reason. 

“What are you doin’ here?” she groused, trying to move but was met with blinding pain. Her hands went to her head, pressing at her temples to ease the tension. Never had she possessed a hangover this horrid before. Maybe it has to do with something that James Barnes was talking to her.

“Well, my orders are very clear,” Barnes replied.

_ Was that a growling response? _

“What? To ruin my life and all relationships I have?” She tried to sound menacing but it was a weak question if at best. She pulled the covers over head, noticing that the sheets weren’t her normal cream 800 count cotton sheets. They were burgundy and a jersey knit. She pulled them back and squinted at her surroundings, trying to get a bearing on where she was at. 

“I don’t think Anthony Stark is anything more than a drug dealer who takes payment in sex,” Bucky replied with little interest, “and I was hired by your mother to protect you until the police figure out who poisoned your father. And with you being the heir to the throne, it’s possible the same person or persons who killed the king would be after you. Either to kill you or to influence you.” 

How could he sound so nonchalant about this?

“Did you just insinuate that I’m a whore?” Constance exclaimed, sitting up straight despite the aching in her head. She found him sitting in a modest dark colored chair, most likely to be made of pressed wood or maybe pine. 

“Your words, your highness,” he shrugged, pushing up to walk towards her. She never really got a look at him the first time they met, mostly because she was aggravated to no end from gaining a bodyguard she didn’t want, but now she had to keep her mouth from falling open at how he looked. He was as tall as Steve, but built completely different, muscular all around instead of just broad shoulders that her previous escort had. His thighs were thick and she could see the muscles flexing underneath the dark jeans he wore as he walked towards her; his shirt was not as constricting, hiding any definition his torso had, but she knew he was solid just by how the t-shirt hung on his pectorals and how defined his biceps and forearms were. It was the first time she noticed him without long sleeves, but his left arm wore one of those compression sleeves athletes wore and there was a glove over the hand. None of that concerned her, just made the mystery of him even more alluring. Her mind wandered down the path of what he would look like without the shirt and how low his jeans hung on his hips, but she was yanked from the small fantasy by his gruff voice.

“Hey, eyes up, princess.”

Constance snapped her gaze up to his, squinting as he was standing by the window now, the sun streaming right behind his head. She could see a little glint of laughter on his face, but only if she focused, but the pounding in her head was maddening.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go to The Hive anymore. Possibly not take any more recreationals?”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” she muttered, falling back down onto the bed, “and where the hell am I?” Her senses seemed to slowly return to normal, things didn’t seem too bright or smell as acidic as she thought, and the sheets were actually comforting. She turned to face him, waiting for his answer and got a whiff of something from the pillow: sandalwood, patchouli, lavender, and what she could describe as spicy.

“You’re in my bedroom,” he replied, handing her a white bottle before bending down and producing a water bottle that must have been on the floor.  “Take two and drink that slowly. Bathroom is over there and I set out some clothes for you to use until we get back to the castle. I notified your mother that you fell ill after everything sunk in.”

He lied for her. Willingly. Maybe Constance had him all wrong, and he wasn’t the bad guy. She took the bottles from him and counted out two pink pills, looking up at him as she took them with the water.

“You must have be a convincing liar,” she stated softly as she set the water down. “Mom can sniff out a lie before it is even on the tongue.”

“I was a spy, your highness,” Bucky replied with a wave a hand, moving to where he said the bathroom was. Constance couldn’t stop watching him rolling in the bed to admire how he moved, but she snapped out of her trance when she heard him come back.

“So, a spy huh? Why are you a nanny now?” she asked, surprised that she was teasing him rather being critical. 

“One, I’m a bodyguard. Two, I retired from the government job. I’m an independent contractor in personal security.” He set down a plush gray bathrobe on the bedside table before handing her the water bottle. “Drink. You’re dehydrated. Whatever you took last night made you throw up three times.”

Constance pulled a face, her tongue running along her teeth and cheeks checking to see if she needed to gargle. She also finally noticed she wasn’t wearing the clothing she had on last night. She pulled the blanket up to look under and noticed she was wearing her underwear and an undershirt tank.

“I set out an extra toothbrush, still in the package. Toothpaste is in the medicine cabinet. I don’t really have another brush for you, but I cleaned mine after putting you to bed…”

“Bucky, it’s fine,” she interrupted, holding up a hand to him. “It’s appreciated. I just have one question, did you undress me?”

It was not hard to miss Bucky’s blush as he turned away, motioning to the robe. “Feel free to use whatever you need. I’m going to go and make you some breakfast. Toast and oatmeal okay?”

Constance laughed and told him it was okay, her question answered with his evasiveness. When the door closed she crawled out of the bed and grabbed the robe, pulling it on and shamelessly sniffed the collar, surprised that it smelled exactly like his pillow. Her mind wandered to whether it could be his cologne or his body wash before she stopped herself at the door of the bathroom and scolded herself for even thinking of him in anyway outside of being an employee. Steve was handsome and smelled good, but it never went to her head like Bucky has. Maybe it was because Bucky wasn’t afraid of telling her no, unlike Steve and any of the other guys on the service detail.

She sighed and turned the light on, smiling at the modest bathroom that was in tones of gray with burgundy accents in the rug, shower curtain, and the other typical bathroom accessories. The shower head surprised her, being far from modest as it was one that she has seen in the upscale hotels she frequented, multi-functions with a handheld that detached. She savored the hot, pounding water on her scalp and shoulders, tipping her head down to let the streams of water hit her neck. Her eyes looked at her options of shampoo and wash, simple things that came from a common store, something she never had used before. She took the bodywash, taking a deep whiff and smiled. 

**~*~**

“I can handle this, Steve,” Bucky groused into the speaker of his cell as he buttered toast and moved to stir the pot on the stove. “Sure, she’s a handful. Not like you had her on a short leash.”

“Hey, easy, Buck,” Steve’s voice echoed back to him. His friend couldn’t see when Bucky rolled his eyes as he sprinkled in brown sugar, mixing it into the thickening oatmeal.

“You said it yourself, punk, you’re too close to her to keep an eye out for potential threats. Don’t worry. She’s fine, showering as we speak.”

“She’s in your shower,” Steve replied, the laugh laced into his words but never sounded as such. “You’re either feeling something for her that’s more than a paycheck or you’re getting soft.”

“Those options are both the same thing, Rogers,” groaned Bucky. His ears perked as he heard the top stair creak, alarming him of Constance. “I gotta go. Just let the queen know she’s safe here.”

“Sure. Don’t let her push your buttons,” his friend mused, “she likes to wait until your guard is down.”

“I know how to do my fucking job, Steve. I’ll call you later.”

Bucky hit the end button and locked his phone before shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a mug and poured it with coffee, setting it on the small island counter in the middle of the kitchen.

“Coffee,” he offered, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat when he laid eyes on her. She was wearing the navy sweatpants he left out for her low on her hips and she’d rolled the legs up to her knees, her toned calves looked small amongst the extra material. She opted to tie the gray shirt he left for her, too, her midriff peaking between the two colors. “Uh, do you need milk or sugar? I don’t have cream.”

“Let me guess, you like it black?” she asked softly as she picked up the mug, bringing it to her lips to blow before taking a sip. “Dad use to tell me that black coffee was good for you: liver, weight loss, heart, brain. Said cream and sugar ruined the taste.”

“He’s not wrong,” he smiled, plating a slice of toast and set it down in front of her, letting her decide if she wanted to stand or sit. “The extra sugars and fats kind of negate the health benefits. Besides, when I was in Croania, coffee was a luxury for us, so if we got it, we took it whatever way we could. Some of those watches were long.”

“Croania? As in you were station there?”

He could feel her eyes on him as he reached for bowls and scooped out the hot cereal, adding a few berries to both before turning towards her. He didn’t reply. He didn’t talk to anyone about his experiences during the war outside of his doctors and therapists.

“Silence must be your go to when you don’t feel like opening up,” Constance grumbled into the mug, taking a long sip and Bucky found himself watching her again. Her dark hair was damp, brushed back and plaited perfectly, and her light olive skin was tinged pink which gave way to the thought of her having a steaming hot shower. Before he could control the line of thinking, he found himself imagining how she looked under his clothing. He had undressed her last night after she had gotten sick, but he was in work mode, concerned about the woman that was put into his care without much say from either of them. This morning, though, he knew they were safe so his guard was down. He wasn’t able to snap out of the shameful thought until Constance touched his left hand, making him jump.

“Sorry,” she rushed out, her eyes falling to the bowl, “you looked like you were caught in some internal battle.

“Something like that,” Bucky grumbled, turning briskly to get her a spoon before she could comment on anything else. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”

She nodded and tentatively dug into the hot cereal, taking slow bites between sips of coffee, and remained quiet. He stole glances at her and cursed to himself for letting her get into his head like that. He had done security for women before, some extremely beautiful, but none had ever distracted him like Constance Wallace did; and he needed to build that wall up before he got him in trouble or her hurt.

“Bucky?”

Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts again, and he could see almost a look of concern on her face when he faced her.

“I asked if we are leaving right after,” she spoke in a hushed tone as if she was afraid he was going to snap at her.

“No. I have some of your clothes being delivered here so you don’t have to go out looking like a homeless person,” he replied evenly.

“Oh, my savior,” she smiled, her words teasing like they were earlier. Was she like this with every guy in her presence?

“No, darlin’, I’m your knight with a metal arm,” he replied, smirking when she raised a brow at him.

“Metal what now?”

“Arm. I have a prosthetic.” He haved his left hand at her, the glove gone since he started to make the food. “Normally keep it hidden so people don’t question.”

“Is that why you’re wearing that compression sleeve?”

Bucky nodded and moved to pull the tight white sleeve off, revealing gleaming black metal with what looked like gold inlay. 

“Did that happen in Croania?” The question wasn’t like when other people asked, full of pity and forced sympathy. No, Constance seemed sincere on knowing the why.

“Yeah. Grenade went off about 15 yards away. I had a lot of shrapnel...this isn’t the kind of talk to have over food. Especially when you’re fighting a bad drug reaction.”

“It’s a hangover, I’ll live,” she laughed, her spoon clanging against the bowl as she went to set it down. “Now, tell me. Call it genuine interest and a bonding moment for us, since I can’t get rid of you any time soon.”

“There’s that,” Bucky chuckled, taking a sip of coffee before he leaned forward on his arms. It was nice to have someone ask without wanting to go into feelings. He recounted the surgeries, four in total, the fourth being the one that gave him the metal appendage.

“So, it’s hardwired into your spine in short?” 

“I guess? I can feel hot and cold, and know when I am touching something, but I can’t tell if something is hard or soft, delicate or sturdy. It’s like when you’re arm goes to sleep and you can use it but there’s some kind of fuzzy feeling? I have that most of the time, just not as prominent.” 

“That’s amazing. I didn’t know we had doctors here that did this kind of surgery.” Her curious eyes roamed along the metal arm, making Bucky almost cringe, but the look she had was pure fascination.

“Actually, it was a team of doctors in Dyniach. That’s where I was flown to after the first surgery.” He went to pull back to get them both more coffee, but felt a pressure on his left hand. When he looked, it was her hand on his, head tilted to the side as she looked at his fingers intently. The amount of surprise on his must have been amusing to Constance as she giggled.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she reassured him sweetly, picking up his hand to bring it closer to her face. Bucky’s heart was hammering as he never been in this kind of situation before with anyone, except maybe a doctor or nurse, but never with anyone that had no medical degree. “It’s light, and you can feel every little shift as if they mimicked muscle responses. Must be why there is gold inlay. Shit’s the best conductor. I wonder how they solved outside shocking issues.” Bucky’s breath hitched as she brought his fingers even closer to her face, enough that he could feel her hot breath against the metal digits. He reluctantly withdrew his hand from her and gave her a tight smile, making her blush.

“I need to check on something. Just don’t answer the door, yeah?” He was gone before she could acknowledge him. He needed air and space to think, to figure out what the hell was going on in his brain. Why was Constance Wallace making him feel like he was losing control?


End file.
